I tried to modulate my voice. "Why are you in such a hurry?"
"I always drive like this." He turned to smile crookedly at me.
"Keep your eyes on the road!"
"I've never been in an accident, Bella—I've never even gotten a ticket." He grinned and tapped his forehead. "Built-in radar detector."201
"Very funny." I fumed. "Charlie's a cop, remember? I was raised to abide by traffic laws." I was grasping at straws, pretending my one-armed father had ever had an effect on me. The truth was more simple: I was scared of what might happen. "Besides, if you turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away."
"Probably," he agreed with a short, hard laugh. "But you can't." He sighed, and I watched with relief as the needle gradually drifted toward eighty, and I got my way. "Happy?"
"Almost."
"I hate driving slow," he muttered.
"This is slow?"
"Enough commentary on my driving, wench," he snapped. "I'm still waiting for your latest theory."
I bit my lip. He looked down at me, his honey eyes unexpectedly gentle, like a pot of honey.
"I won't laugh," he promised.
"I'm more afraid that you won't laugh."
"Is it that bad?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
He waited. I was looking down at my hands, so I couldn't see his expression.
"Go ahead." His voice was calm.
"I don't know how to start," I started.
201. Alien technology, acquired during his "missing years."